Midwinter
by booooooooof
Summary: Jimmy comes to terms with some things, as Thomas resigns himself to others.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first attempt at a story with multiple chapters. I'm going to try to upload new chapters quickly.

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

It was the middle of winter, and night, cold and dark, had settled around the abbey. Outside, the sky was clear, and the air was still, as if frozen in place. Inside the servant's hall, it was only slightly warmer. After a long day's work, all of the downstairs denizens had retired to their beds, save two men: a certain footman and under butler. Jimmy and Thomas, as was their usual habit for the past several months, were sitting across from one another in the servants' hall, playing cards by the dim glow of a single electric light, talking on and off about whatever came to mind.

"Funny 'bout Alfred and Ivy, huh?" Jimmy pondered.

Thomas didn't even look up from his cards, well used to Jimmy's odd conversational shifts by now. "Everything about Alfred is a bit funny; you'll have to be more specific."

"Har-har. You know what I mean, though. Just never fancied I'd see Ivy being sweet on him. They've both been mooning over one another lately."

"Mm. Your turn." Thomas said.

"Hm? Oh. Well," Jimmy continued, setting down a three of clubs, "It's just really gettin' a bit nauseating, if you ask me." Thomas set down an eight of hearts.

"Diamonds," was Thomas' only reply.

"It's- damn it! You know I haven't got any of those." He drew the last two cards in the pile, and found himself at a loss. "What do you do if the deck's all used up then?"

"Just turn over the other one and draw from there."

Jimmy complied, drawing five more before he found what he needed. "This game is awful boring, Thomas," he pouted.

"Well, you're the one that wanted to play something new…besides, you're only sayin' that 'cause you're losing," Thomas grinned cheekily, peering over his cards at the footman.

Jimmy scowled at him. "No, I have more cards, I'm winning."

Thomas sighed. "I told ya, you need to get rid of your cards. And you've got damn near twenty in your hand right now."

"Wha- you're just sayin' that, so you can win! You told me to pick up cards, now I have more than you, and you turn the tables on me!" Jimmy fumed, "You cheating bastard."

Thomas only chuckled at the insult. They rarely got through any kind of game nowadays without Jimmy accusing Thomas of cheating. The fact of the matter was, Thomas was simply the better card player. And they both knew it, which only served to incense Jimmy further, making him more determined to win, and even angrier about losing.

Jimmy childishly stuck his tongue out at him, and slapped another card down.

"I couldn't care less really," Thomas said. He put down another eight. "Diamonds," he said again, smugly.

"About what? Bloody hell," Jimmy swore, forced to draw another three cards.

"Ivy and that bean pole." Thomas continued, "Couples. Bates and Anna. Annoying, the lot of 'em."

"Me neither," Jimmy shrugged. Then, "Alright, you rigged this deck, I know you did. Or you're hidin' cards up your sleeve. I swear you've put down at least five eights by now."

Thomas snorted. "First of all, it's _your _deck. _Second_, I have not, you're just sore about losing," he said. "Which you are. _Badly_," he added.

Jimmy scoffed, "You just wait, Mr. Barrow. I'll best you yet." He put down the six of diamonds. Thomas put down the six of hearts. Jimmy frowned at that, and then suddenly said, "What do you think of the new maid comin' in, then?"

Seemingly caught a bit off guard by the question, Thomas took a moment to answer. "I don't know. Don't particularly care much. She'll probably go the way of the last few soon enough," he grimaced, recalling what he'd heard of Ethel, and what he'd remembered of Edna, her successor.

"You think? I wonder if she'll be settin' her sights on Branson as well," Jimmy mused. He'd heard all about the 'scandals' involving the previous maids from Thomas during one of their past card games a few months back. He slyly put down the nine of spades as he spoke, hoping the other man wouldn't notice. Thomas noticed.

"James, if you're going to cheat, you need to at least try it with the same color suit. Even if I were dumb enough to read that as a six, there's no way I'm confusing a spade for a heart," he laughed, and Jimmy swore again, loudly. Thomas laughed a little harder at that, and Jimmy couldn't help but grin a little in return. It was nice to hear Thomas laugh, he thought to himself. That genuine, throaty laugh was so rare a thing, that Jimmy (secretly) took pride in being the cause of it.

The first time he'd heard Thomas laugh, truly _laugh_, he'd been shocked. It had happened in the late summer, earlier that year, after they'd both gone out on a shared half-day and each had one too many pints at the pub. On their way back, Jimmy had bent down to pick up what he'd thought was a shilling, overbalanced, and landed hard on his bottom in the mud, making a loud squelching noise.

Thomas had immediately gone into a fit of boisterous laughter, as Jimmy just sat there dumbly in the wet muck. To make matters worse, the 'shilling', as it turned out, had been a button all along. Thomas, of course, had found that even funnier. He'd tucked it into Jimmy's jacket pocket, and, very solemnly, said, "Here now, Mr. Kent. Don't go and spend it all in one place." And because they were both very drunk, they'd giggled like schoolchildren at that, clumsily stumbling the rest of the way back home.

Jimmy still had that button, though he didn't know why he'd kept it, exactly. He didn't like to think of why he might have.

Predictably, Jimmy lost the round, and subsequently the next one. Finally, halfway into his third loss, he threw down his cards in defeat.

"Alright, alright! I give up. For now," he said, "And next time, we're playing something else."

"Whatever you 'd like, Jimmy," Thomas placated him, calmly pulling a cigarette out and lighting it.

Jimmy swallowed thickly at hearing Thomas call him that. The other man so rarely let his guard down, always making sure to address him as "you", or maybe "James", if he had to. He almost always avoided calling him "Jimmy"; apparently he'd deemed it far too intimate, and Jimmy tolerated it, for the sake of their friendship. But it was nice, hearing him let his guard down, for once. It was just...pleasant. _'For no particular reason,'_ he supposed.

"Do you ever think about the future?" Jimmy asked, not wanting Thomas to realize his slip in calling him by name. "I mean, the distant future," he amended. It was out of the blue, but lately Jimmy had been pondering these sorts of things more and more, with some increasing sense of urgency.

Thomas took a long drag on his cigarette, blowing it out slowly. Flicking the corner of a card, so that it would lay flat on the table, he asked, "How distant? Months? Years?"

"I mean," Jimmy said, "Years…decades, even. What do you think you'll be doin'? Where you'll be?"

"It's hard to say, isn't it?" Thomas said, "That far ahead…I've never thought that far. It never seemed worth planning for. I suppose I had bigger aspirations in the grand scheme o' things once. But…"

"But?"

"But, well, you know. With the war and everything…just seemed easier to live on a daily basis. Still does. More practical, like." He took another smooth draw on his cigarette.

Jimmy nodded, contemplative. "I know that feeling…I've felt that same way. Still do, mostly. Just…I don't know," he paused, gathering the cards up into a pile. After a moment, he continued, "I suppose I'm starting to think differently now."

They sat for another moment in contemplative silence. The air was cold, and outside the snow-covered ground glittered under the light of a pale crescent moon. Jimmy shuffled the cards absently. Finally, Thomas broke the silence.

"You know what's funny," He said carefully, "Just, speaking of planning far into the future- and mind, this was years ago...well, I sometimes fancied gettin' married."

Jimmy looked up sharply at that, and before he could stop himself, sputtered, "What!? You mean to a _woman_?"

"Shh! No. Of course not. To a _man_, James," Thomas shook his head, and tapped his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. "_Of course_ to a woman."

"B-but…you…?" Jimmy lowered his voice, slightly embarrassed by his loud reaction.

"Well, _yes._ But there are plenty of…_men_… who marry. They marry, have kids," he faltered. "A home...a proper home." He finished, a bit wistfully.

"Are there really…Do they really…" Jimmy floundered, unused to so frank a discussion on _this_ sort of thing with _Thomas_, of all people. "There are really _men_, like, um…well, erm, how _can_…_how_…?"

Somehow, Thomas must have understood what he was trying to say. "I suppose some must be able to." He brought his cigarette back up to his mouth, and added, "I've known a few…"

Jimmy flushed, growing more uncomfortable with the discussion at hand by the second. He had no idea at what point the conversation had derailed so completely into this. He also, for some odd reason, distinctly resented the idea of Thomas getting hitched to some…_woman_. Some- some _stranger_. The words "Thomas" and "wife" were just two words that didn't seem to fit together in a coherent sentence. The very possibility of there ever being a "Mrs." Barrow almost made him squirm with unease.

Thomas must have noticed Jimmy's discomfort, because he quickly added, "It was years ago. Never thought seriously of doing it, anyway." He put out his cigarette, and hurriedly changed the subject. It was easy enough. He chose to start complaining about the outdoor picnic Lady Mary had insisted on having tomorrow, in this sort of weather, and really, _why_ would anyone want to do that…

Jimmy nodded absently, only half-listening to Thomas' small tirade on the utter frivolity and carelessness of those _Upstairs_. It was no new conversational subject for the two. Jimmy was still stuck on what Thomas had just told him, however, and the rest of what the other man was saying now was slowly drowned out by his own thoughts.

If Thomas wasn't ever going to marry, and if he simply planned to stay at Downton (although that Jimmy didn't know for sure, but he had a hunch)…did that mean that he'd simply be alone, forever? Was he lonely, then? At that, Jimmy felt a pang of…sympathy, was it? _Something_. It was an unusual feeling, a curious, hollow ache in his chest. He looked up at Thomas, who had an expression on his face like he was expecting an answer of some sort.

"Um," Jimmy said. "What did you just say?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "You look tired. Come on, then," he stood, putting out his cigarette. "Let's call it a night."

Jimmy stood and pocketed his cards. Together, they made their way over to the stairs, and Thomas went up ahead of him. As they climbed the stairs, he glanced up at Thomas' back, and at his broad shoulders. It suddenly struck him that Thomas looked incredibly lonely, like that. Walking up that narrow flight of stairs in the dark. He wondered if Thomas felt as alone as he looked to Jimmy right then...if he always felt that way.

'_No,' _Jimmy thought, _'He's got me, after all. He's not alone- he still- he still _loves_ me,'_ The thought surprised him, but he realized that it wasn't something he hadn't already known. The notion of being loved by another man, by _Thomas Barrow_, didn't seem to bother Jimmy like it used to. In a way, it was almost comforting, to know that there was someone in this world who cared about him, and who looked out for him. The world wasn't such a cold and empty place when you had someone to look after you like that.

When they'd each reached their respective doors, Jimmy turned to look at Thomas, and saw that he was already glancing over at him. They both grinned at one another, a bit awkwardly.

"Goodnight, Thomas," Jimmy said quietly.

"Goodnight, Jimmy," Thomas said, hesitating for a brief second, as if he was about to say something else. He didn't, though, he only nodded, taking hold of his doorknob. Then he broke their eye contact, the sudden loss of which sent a chill up the length Jimmy's spine. Swiftly, he disappeared into his room, like a phantom vanishing into the night.

Jimmy remained at his own door, unable to turn the handle, and unable to take his eyes off of where Thomas had been standing moments ago. He thought back to what Thomas had revealed to him so casually downstairs, smoking his cigarette, cool and calm as ever. Jimmy was assaulted by another ominous chill. For an instant, the hallway stretched on for too long. The house felt empty, and the air was far too still. Heart beating hard, Jimmy twisted the doorknob, and fled into the pitch darkness of his room, once more unable to shake a feeling that he could not place.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning could not have come sooner for Jimmy. He'd tossed and turned and had been woken up twice in the night by bizarre, fitful dreams, which he couldn't recall upon awakening. He'd spent the rest of the time in a half-awake state, mulling over the mysterious dread that had gripped him ever since last night's conversation with Thomas.

Finally, he'd managed to fall asleep right before dawn...only to be woken up once more, this time by Alfred who was shirtless and had shaving soap all over his face. He'd barged into Jimmy's room like that, and asked to borrow his straight edge.

Jimmy had refused to give it to him then out of pure spite, and they'd proceeded to get into a loud argument over it, during which Jimmy gave up the pretense of sleeping, and got out of bed to get dressed. It was only until Thomas walked by the wide-open door and saw Jimmy, bent over with his trousers half on one leg, and Alfred, with shaving lather dripping down his neck and chest, that they had both stopped, realizing how ridiculous they looked.

Alfred had also then had the gall to appear highly scandalized by Thomas' seeing his shirtless form, and made to cover himself up like some poor maiden protecting her virtue. For some reason, that had made Jimmy even angrier, and he'd snapped, "Come off it Alfred, even _he's_ not interested in _that_," before he could think any better of it. There had followed then an extremely loaded silence, because Jimmy had just mentioned the _Thing That No One Dare Speak Of_, and- he looked over at his alarm clock- good _God_, it _was only _half six_ in the morning. _

Really, if this was any example of what the day was going to be like, then Jimmy desperately wished, in that moment, to go crawl beneath the snow outside and wait out the spring. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option for him. Alfred himself chose to flee the scene, side-stepping Thomas, who only looked vaguely unimpressed at all that he had just witnessed.

That had left Jimmy alone with him, and it was only until Jimmy had followed Thomas' gaze downwards, that he'd realized his trousers were still on the floor, pooled around his right leg. And despite the chill in the air, Jimmy felt his face flood with heat. Mortified, he hastily bent down and pulled them up. When he glanced back towards the doorway, however, he saw that Thomas was already gone.

Jimmy, now fully dressed, then turned to look at himself in the mirror, and examined the bags under his eyes. Idly, he'd wondered if he could just skip breakfast…and maybe work, too. But he groaned and steeled his nerves, knowing he'd just have to suffer through it. Reluctantly, he set about getting ready to face the day.

* * *

Breakfast went off uneventfully enough. Jimmy sat down next to Thomas, as per usual, although neither said much to the other- that is, other than a brief, "Pass the toast?" from the other man. Jimmy complied wordlessly, and then settled for concentrating on his poached egg throughout the meal. He thought that it stared at him too much, with its yellowy pupil, so he poked at it with his fork, until the yolk ran. Jimmy wasn't really hungry after that.

Alfred sat directly across from him, alternating between grinning, and making eyes at Ivy, and glaring at Jimmy over the platter of scones separating them. Jimmy however didn't deign to look back at him, as he refused to participate in such juvenile behavior. He didn't catch the concerned look that Thomas sent his way, too busy poking at his now scrambled egg.

Anna brought up the topic of the new housemaid set to arrive later that day, and Mrs. Hughes set to fill her in on the details. They got to chatting about general work that needed to be done, and about how Anna was quite glad that they'd be getting some extra help, as it was especially hard to keep things tidy with the young Master George and Miss Sybil at hand, and...Jimmy tuned them out, choosing instead to look over out the window at the gathering clouds in the sky.

Overall, the meal itself went by relatively fast, and Jimmy thought that hopefully, the rest of the day would follow suit. It was not to be, though; as soon as they'd started to get up from the table, an unfamiliar young woman stepped into the room, saying, "Hello, do excuse me, I didn't mean to interrupt. My name Margaret Evans," she hesitated, then continued, "Is there a Mrs. Hughes in?"

She was very pretty, with big hazel eyes, a delicate little nose, and wavy hair the color of wheat, pulled back into a loose bun. A few stray curls escaped from it to frame her delicate, heart-shaped face. She also had a very…_ample_ bosom, obvious even underneath the modest housemaid's uniform that she wore. The sense of dread from last night returned, and bloomed in Jimmy's chest once more.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jimmy saw Alfred's jaw go slack. Ivy saw it too, and first her eyes widened, then narrowed. Jimmy rolled his eyes. To his right, he spied Thomas looking on with mild disinterest. Jimmy just managed to hold back a smirk at that.

Mrs. Hughes quickly stepped forward and greeted her, "Ah, Margaret, dear. We weren't aware you'd be so early! Mr. Carson and I were made to believe that you'd be arriving later this afternoon?"

"Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Carson, a pleasure to meet you in person," the maid, Margaret, smiled cordially up at them. "I _was_ bound to take the later train, only they had a scheduling conflict of sorts. Said they could move me up to the earlier, overnight train, if I were able, as there was an opening on it, y'see" she explained. "I'd have sent word 'round to you about it, only it all happened very last minute," she added, apologetically.

"I see. Well, there's certainly nothing wrong with arriving a wee bit early to work, is there, Mr. Carson?" Mrs. Hughes smiled back at her.

A curt "Indeed," was the extent of Carson's reply.

"Come now, let's get you settled in," Mrs. Hughes continued, introducing her to everyone.

"This is Daisy, she's assistant cook to Mrs. Patmore," she offered, "And this is Ivy, one of our kitchen maids, along with Alfred, one of our footmen."

Daisy smiled at her, and said, "Pleased to meet you,", and Ivy offered a tight-lipped, "Hello."

When Alfred failed to respond, Ivy nudged him in the side, startling him into action. "Er, hello, then," he stuttered, earning a reproving glance from Carson.

Mrs. Hughes wisely decided to move on, saying, "And this is Jimmy, he's a footman as well, and here's Thomas Barrow, our under butler."

"Hello, Jimmy," she said. He inclined his head towards her, offering a polite smile.

Margaret then turned to Thomas, and said, "Mr. Barrow," smiling sweetly. _Very_ sweetly. Jimmy decided right then that he didn't like her much.

Thomas offered a neutral, "Hello," right back to her, and Jimmy decided that actually he very much disliked her. And then she blushed quite prettily at him, and Jimmy hated her.

"Blimey," Alfred muttered, earning another sharp glare from Ivy, and a raise of the eyebrow from Carson.

"Right, Margaret," interjected Mrs. Hughes, taking her arm gently, "You'll be rooming with Heather, she's another housemaid; she'll be able to help you with almost anything. I'll show you upstairs, shall I?" They made their way out of the hall, but not before Margaret managed to get one last shy glance back Thomas' way, just before they both disappeared. Jimmy's brow furrowed, and he had to make a conscious effort not to clench his fists.

Somehow, the day had gotten worse. Much worse.

Daisy looked from Thomas, to the doorway the new maid had just left through. "Well," she said. She looked from Ivy to Alfred, wringing her hands, "I…"

She caught Jimmy's eye. "Oh," she said again, and this time a little bit sadly. Outside the window, snow began to fall.

"Oh, shut your big mouth, would you!" Ivy snarled at Alfred. Alfred snapped his jaw shut.

Thomas turned to Jimmy, and said, "Looks like Lady Mary won't be able to have that bloody picnic o' hers," he nodded towards the window, "Not in this weather, I hope."

Jimmy looked out at the flurry of snow, and replied with a flat, "S'pose not." He looked up at Thomas, who raised an eyebrow at his morose response. Daisy stood behind him, very clearly pretending not to listen as she gathered up plates. Jimmy made a vague excuse about leaving something upstairs, and hastily left the room.

* * *

Thankfully, the rest of the day went by in a rush, but as the work dwindled, and his daily duties were all taken care of, Jimmy found himself at a loss as to what he should do next.

He'd avoided Thomas all day, which wasn't all that hard, except during the family's mealtimes, and then during their own. He'd stayed out of the servant's hall all day, and later on had purposefully arrived late to dinner, reluctantly slipping into the same seat beside Thomas. Jimmy didn't attempt to talk to him, nor, for that matter, anyone else.

Margaret was there, as Jimmy had known she would be. Jimmy didn't know why he hated her. Honestly, the least he'd ever felt towards any of the other maids was indifference, and the most, a slight disdain. Jimmy sighed inwardly, pushing a piece of chicken around on his plate.

Margaret had sat herself across from Daisy, which, _incidentally_, had put her just to the right of Thomas. Jimmy wished he'd sat in between them. All throughout dinner, she'd tried in vain to engage Thomas in conversation, saying things like, _"Oh, being under butler must be _so_ exciting!"_, and whispering, _"My, it must be _so_ demanding_,_", _or, Jimmy's favorite, _"I see, so you're directly underneath Mr. Carson, then?" _

Thomas, to his credit, hadn't so much as blinked an eye at that last one. Carson overheard it though, and choked on his tea.

Also to Thomas' credit, he tried to make small talk with Jimmy, but Jimmy only responded in terse, one-word sentences. For several minutes they went on like that, until Thomas finally gave up on him altogether, and focused on his food.

Unable to take anymore, Jimmy sneaked out early. Ivy and Daisy had started bickering loudly over who'd be tasked with washing the pots afterwards. Mrs. Patmore was in the midst of telling them to settle down, or else she'd make sure they'd "both get a pot upside the head," when Jimmy made his escape. He was almost positive that no one had seen him leave.

* * *

Half an hour or so later found Jimmy, sitting pensively on a wooden crate stacked alongside a wall adjacent to the kitchen entrance. It was cold- _very cold_. A frigid breeze had begun to pick up, but at least the snow had stopped falling. Jimmy shivered and regretted not bringing a coat with him.

Thomas was just around the corner, smoking. He had been there for the past ten minutes or so. Jimmy had heard the creak of the kitchen door when he came out, and every now and then would catch a whiff of cigarette smoke wafting by. And Jimmy felt silly, really, just sitting there sulking, whilst Thomas stood nearby, unaware of his presence...

"Right then," his voice shook Jimmy from his gloom, "Are you going sulk there all night?"

Jimmy hesitated, before asking, "How'd you know I was here?"

"Because," Thomas said from his spot over by the door, "I saw you leave, you ninny."

"Oh," Jimmy felt even sillier now.

"Can I come around, or are you going to run away if I do?" Thomas asked.

"No don't," again, Jimmy's mouth spoke before he could stop it. Thomas said nothing, and Jimmy felt a pang of guilt, imagining how badly the other man might have interpreted that.

There was quiet for a while, as Jimmy watched the steam from his breath rise up and dissipate into the grey winter sky. It was already growing dark, though the moon was nowhere to be found tonight, hidden behind the thick layer of clouds present.

"You weren't there, but Alfred tried reciting poetry to Ivy before dinner. Tryin' to appease her, like," Thomas spoke again, making Jimmy jump. He'd thought Thomas had left.

Jimmy took a moment to ask, "…What poem?"

"'_I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud'_," Jimmy could practically _hear_ Thomas trying and failing to keep a straight face. Against his will, he smiled a bit, too.

"No…how bad was it?" Jimmy asked.

"I'll spare you the details, but he made it 'bout three lines in, got them all wrong, and gave up," Thomas said.

"Oh God," Jimmy said, unable to hold back a grin.

"It was awful," Thomas agreed, and Jimmy could picture him- inhaling on his cigarette, cheeks hollowing, his lips pursed around- Jimmy hopped up off of the crate, and shook his head quickly. _'What am I thinking _now_?'_

"Although, he didn't appreciate it when I told him so," Thomas finished, sounding much closer now. Jimmy jumped, and spun around, almost slipping on the snowy ground. There was Thomas, leaning on the wall directly behind him. Thomas dropped his cigarette, and started forward, as if to catch him. But Jimmy steadied himself, and the other man relaxed again. He still looked concerned, though.

"You look like you barely slept a wink," Thomas told him, "And you've been in a weird mood all day…weirder than usual, that is." Jimmy said nothing.

"You hardly ate at all," Thomas added, tone disapproving.

Jimmy swallowed. "I have been feeling off," he assented. "Sorry."

"Did...if I…if I did something to…?" Thomas hesitated.

Jimmy shook his head, "No," he tried, but Thomas spoke over him.

"If I did, well you could tell me, and I'd, well, I haven't, I thought…" It was unsettling seeing Thomas so…unsure of himself. Jimmy felt bad for making him feel that way, for making him worry that _he'd_ done something wrong again.

"_No_," Jimmy spoke louder this time, "It's me, I've been…_weirder _than usual, like you said." He grinned up at Thomas. "I just need to get some sleep, is all."

Thomas didn't look convinced, but he let it go. Jimmy carefully walked over and leaned on the wall next to him, and they were almost touching. It was almost completely dark, and Jimmy once more mourned leaving his coat inside. His nose was numb, and his hands were stiff.

Together, they stood and watched their breath emerge in icy clouds that mingled together high above, floating off into the ether.

"Daisy dropped a pie 'bout right after you left," Thomas informed him, "It exploded all over the floor."

Jimmy laughed, "I knew _somethin'_ happened alright. Could hear Mrs. Patmore shrieking from out here."

Thomas grinned, "Right. So I had to make my getaway. Barely escaped with me life, I did." He was making an excuse for following Jimmy out, and they both knew it. But Jimmy didn't mind, because he'd been an arse to Thomas all day, and here the man was, worried for him.

"Think it's like to start snowin' again?" Jimmy asked him.

"I don't doubt it," Thomas said, into the now complete darkness. "S'bloody cold," he muttered. "I'm going back in, and if you had any sense, you'd come, too."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy tried to say it mockingly, but his teeth were chattering too hard. He was glad Thomas couldn't see.

They felt their way back to the entrance slowly, tracing the wall with their hands, and treading cautiously along the slick ground. Thomas opened the door for him, and said, "Let's skip the cards tonight."

"Why, afraid of losing, are ya?" Jimmy goaded him, brushing past. The residual warmth in the kitchen washed over him, a blessed relief. Almost immediately, Jimmy began to notice feeling creeping back into his numb hands and face.

"What, to you?" Thomas said, closing the door behind them, "Ha! Now that's a laugh." Jimmy huffed good-naturedly at his jibe. They talked some more as they headed up, taking Jimmy's mind off of things for a moment or two.

* * *

But when Jimmy found himself alone in his room, stress overtook him once more. He thought of life, and tomorrow, and of the days that would invariably follow, all hazy and unclear. Of housemaids with golden hair and charming looks. Eventually, Jimmy fell asleep, with a heavy heart and a weary mind. He dreamt of egg yolks that blinked uneasily down at him, as he casually polished silverware with the Dowager Countess.

_"Why, do you suppose," he pondered, handing her a salad fork, "They look so unhappy?" He nodded towards the yolks._

_"Because," she answered him, lips pursed. "They're afraid of someone taking their silverware away. They're convinced that all they could do is watch."_

_"Oh," he said. "That makes sense, then."_

_"Naturally," she huffed._


End file.
